Every word I have ever written has been an ineffectual and, since 1941, frankly redundant, attempt to describe and simultaneously solve a complicated labyrinth that stares out at me from bus shelters, tourism offices, smartphone screens and anywhere else where can be found the words "you are here."
Nothing is more terrifying. Because all of these maps are blank and this is a boundless maze with no walls by which to mark progress. I am here. Every day I wake up and I am at the beginning again; the puzzle has recapitulated itself around me. I have been asked where I am and I respond that I am in the only place I have ever been.
Still they insist on breaking matter down to ever smaller, more discreet components. To fix themselves, quantifiability. But the decimal points never end and we drift further and further out to sea, having done away with the compass and sextant, star-charts and astrolabes, the global positioning satellites, the signposts, the standing stones and mountains, with the very sun, an endless journey to find a stick to place in the ground so that we might say "This is the point from which all space is reckoned and by it you shall know your way."
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